Chapter 103: No Fighting

Suzuna Tsukimi was flung backward by an unknown, mysterious force.

Xia Qingyu remained standing in place, her right arm raised, still aiming at her opponent.

Tears streamed down from her deep, pitch-black, cold and merciless eyes.

Without a sob or a whimper, she simply let the tears flow freely down her cheeks, slowly revealing a hollow smile. In a dazed voice, she whispered:

“Chen Zi’ang.”

“In everyone’s heart, there are taboos that must not be touched.”

“So, I’m sorry. This matter—I cannot explain it to you…”

“Don’t talk about explanations right now!” Chen Zi’ang finally snapped back to reality. He quickly stepped in front of her, his voice sharp and commanding. “Xia Qingyu! Do you remember what we came here to do today? The person you truly want to kill is not Suzuna Tsukimi!”

Xia Qingyu kept her stiff, tear-streaked smile, silently staring into Chen Zi’ang’s face.

In her black pupils, a surge of complex and inscrutable emotions suddenly flickered.

Then she slowly lowered her right arm, turned her back to him, and fell silent.

Chen Zi’ang immediately turned and rushed to Suzuna’s side to check her condition carefully.

Fortunately, it seemed that Suzuna had used her shadow to shield herself as she was thrown back.

When she collided with the monument, she had also used her shadow at her back as a buffer. As a result, only the monument was shattered in half, while she appeared unharmed.

With Chen Zi’ang’s support, she was able to stand up normally.

“Suzuna, how are you?” Chen Zi’ang asked with concern. “Are you hurt? Do you want to go to the hospital?”

Suzuna seemed to come back to herself, realizing what she had just said. She bit her lower lip silently.

After a moment, she hung her head and muttered in a dejected voice:

“Sorry, senpai. I lost control of myself.”

Chen Zi’ang felt a twinge of frustration and couldn’t help but ask:

“So, why exactly...?”

“Senpai.” Suzuna suddenly interrupted him.

Her expression was weary, as if the outburst and accusations she had just unleashed on Xia Qingyu had drained all her strength. Now she could only grasp Chen Zi’ang’s hand weakly and plead in a trembling voice:

“Please don’t ask... Senpai, please, don’t ask anymore…”

Chen Zi’ang was silent for a moment, then gritted his teeth and said:

“Alright, I won’t ask.”

He firmly took Suzuna’s hand and walked over to Xia Qingyu’s side, holding back the urge to curse under his breath. In a grave tone, he said:

“The most important task today—I assume I don’t have to spell it out?”

“The target is very likely lurking outside. I’m not sure if your fight here has alerted them. I only ask that you put aside your ridiculous personal grudges and get the damn job done first, no matter what!”

Xia Qingyu said nothing. The tears on her face had been wiped away, and she simply looked down at the ground, apparently in silent agreement.

Suzuna, her eyes red, pressed her lips tightly and crossed her arms tightly over her chest, nodding ever so slightly.

“Xia Qingyu,” Chen Zi’ang asked sternly, “what’s the next step?”

“Wait for Izumo Yuki to deploy the surrounding personnel,” Xia Qingyu answered.

Her voice was not mocking or sarcastic; instead, it carried a faint, ethereal quality, as if she were immersed in some inescapable emotion.

“Good. I’ll contact her right away.” Chen Zi’ang pulled out his phone and was about to cross the street to make the call when he suddenly turned back and pointed at the two of them, sternly ordering:

“No more fighting!”

Neither of the two girls responded. They both kept their heads bowed, staring at the ground, unwilling to even glance at one another.

… Honestly, working with these two is more exhausting than being a kindergarten teacher.

Chen Zi’ang sighed inwardly and dialed Izumo Yuki’s number.

——————————

Tadashi Kobayashi, representing the Mikawa district, always lingered near the bottom of the voting rankings, on the verge of losing his seat as a councilman at any moment.

In a democratic system, such politicians were often called “bench members” or “backbenchers,” largely ignored both by their constituencies and their parties.

After all, under this system’s rules, one needed ample publicity resources to appear before the public and secure votes; parties would only invest resources in candidates who already commanded significant vote banks… This is the classic “suburban trap.”

(Suburban Trap: Refers to how the poor are forced to live in cheaper suburban areas, wasting excessive time commuting and thus lacking the energy to improve themselves and escape poverty.)

Senka Qin’s meteoric rise offered new possibilities for these backbenchers: create a big splash.

In truth, the “Animal Rights Act” was never likely to pass.

Take its core provision, the “legal possession of nests,” which on the surface seemed to legitimize stray cats and dogs living on campuses and in communities, protecting them from eviction by property managers or security guards. This is why the bill garnered public support.

However, upon deeper reflection, this clause clashed irreconcilably with property law.

The habitats of stray animals were not unowned lands in the wild—they existed on properties with clear ownership.

Allowing stray animals to remain only because no one bothered to manage them did not mean these animals had a “right” to occupy those lands.

If someone attempted to arrogate rights from the owners and bestow them upon wild animals, it would spark an uproar… Thus, Qin Senka’s propaganda was cleverly framed as “I’m trying to push this bill, but the resistance is too strong.”

Animal rights advocates only heard the first half, property owners only the latter. Hence, the former gave him votes, and the latter felt no threat—this was the secret to Qin Senka’s soaring popularity.

After Qin Senka’s sudden death and the political star’s fall like a shooting star, most politicians hadn’t yet reacted when a mysterious force approached Tadashi Kobayashi, arranging for him to inherit Qin Senka’s political legacy.

This had to happen quickly, or else the Qin family would intervene first… that was the warning.

Politicians had to be bold enough to bet, and Kobayashi knew well that he was not the only one being courted.

He soon made his decision.

Not only would he take the gamble, but he would play even bigger than Qin Senka.

Currently, his official role was as a specially invited guest at the Takamagahara Historical Museum, attending the “Governor Ishikinto Memorial Festival.”

Yet, he intended to announce at the festival’s conclusion that, in order to carry forward Governor Ishikinto’s spirit in promoting the Ecological Protection Act, he would lead the establishment of a nonprofit organization dedicated to “advancing the city’s Animal Rights Protection Act,” and call on attendees to sign a petition in support.

“How do I look now?” Tadashi Kobayashi asked, straightening his attire once more in the museum’s side lounge, wearing a warm yet resolute smile at his reflection.

“Perfect,” his secretary promptly agreed. “Your smile is infectious and approachable, yet exudes a convincing aura.”

“Good,” Kobayashi said with satisfaction. “Give me the speech again—I want to review it a few more times.”

(The End of This Chapter)